


Flowers and Baubles

by vulpeculavolans



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, me banging pots and pans together: HEY EVERYONE COME LOOK AT MY DRAGON AGE OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 01:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15786144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpeculavolans/pseuds/vulpeculavolans
Summary: Aneirin Tabris is far too serious for Zevran's liking. He should do something about that. Or: the author writes 2000 words of tooth-rotting fluff just because they can.





	Flowers and Baubles

It was late in the day, the sun cresting low over the hills surrounding the party’s camp. Golden light bounced off the lake, casting blinding light into Aneirin’s eyes. His was first watch; it was early, still, but the others had already started to settle by the campfire, bellies full and mouths teeming with stories - raunchy escapades, forgotten relics found and returned, colossal cock-ups that made water snort out of Alistair’s nose. 

Aneirin preferred watch, in some aspects. The solitude welcomed him as it always had. At heart, Aneirin wasn’t meant for… this. This entertainment, this brand of socialisation. Not in the way some of the others were.

Not in the way one in particular was.

The tips of Aneirin’s ears reddened, and he scoffed at his own schoolboy attitude. He adjusted his stance, straightening his back, reaching one hand up to settle the bow on his shoulder. His jaw tensed, teeth crushed together so tight it almost hurt. Good. Let the pain bring him back to reality. The man was a damned assassin, for the Maker’s sake - an assassin who was contracted to kill him less than two months ago, at that. The very idea of it was ludicrous, and he knew it.

His shoulders ached, and sitting here with nothing else to do, it started to gnaw at him like a dog with a bone. He grunted frustratedly and tried to ignore it. That same tension had sat on his shoulders from the moment he’d awoken in Flemeth’s hut - since the moment this unwinnable quest had been foisted on him. Complaining about it was hardly going to change anything.

Those first weeks had been a constant test of self-control. Every night, when Alistair dropped off to sleep - drooling and snoring in that way that had been unbearable at first - Aneirin would sneak to the edge of camp, his bag slung over one shoulder. He’d make it to the water - a river, or a lake if they were lucky - and then he’d stop. He didn’t know if it was his reflection, or the fact it was loud and uncomfortable to cross, or what, but whenever he reached it, he’d stop. At first, he told himself he’d simply fill his waterskin and be on his way, but later, the trips out of camp became less and less frequent until they stopped altogether. He didn’t know what held him then, and honestly, he still doesn’t now. He and Alistair hardly saw eye-to-eye, and Morrigan was… a puzzle, to say the least. Maybe he just felt bad for the dog.

“My, my, Warden, your face is so serious,” Zevran tutted. “I simply cannot allow it.”

Aneirin sighed irritably, his train of thought thoroughly interrupted. His brow still furrowed, he regarded Zevran briefly and nodded amicably before returning to his watch, one leg bent at the knee and drawn up to his chest. Zevran sat far too close for comfort, as he always did. Aneirin didn’t understand how he could do that - share that kind of physicality with someone he barely knew with a not a thought for his own safety. _Stupid,_ Aneirin thought, _especially when we both know I’m armed._

“So!” Zevran said cheerfully. “What are we watching?”

“Not much, for now,” Aneirin replied. “I saw a deer earlier - if we see it again, we’ll be eating well for the next week at least.”

“Fascinating. I can think of little else I’d rather do,” Zevran said, deadpan. Aneirin turned to him, a single brow raised.

“You know, I didn’t ask you to come over here.”

“And yet, here I am! I simply can’t help my charitable nature, Warden. It’s a curse, truly.” Zevran punctuated his sentence with a sigh, dropping back onto his palms, the picture of amateur drama.

Aneirin scoffed, the slight quirk to his mouth unwelcome. Of course, Zevran caught it anyway, his grin turning mischievous.

“Ah, I knew I’d break through that icy facade somehow. Tell me, good man, what was your childhood like?”

“Oh, simply wonderful,” he replied dryly. “I was borne of contentment - raising cows with Mama and Papa, running through the fields with nary a care in the world…the usual for contract killers and Grey Wardens alike, I’m told.”

Zevran laughed like he always did; open and free, his head tilted back, like his body couldn’t handle the scope of it. Aneirin tried not to stare, instead laser-focussing on the woods in front of him. Zevran righted himself, sitting up and crossing his legs. Aneirin pretended not to notice the way he’d shuffled a few inches closer. He also tried not to read into it. He failed on at least one of these counts.

He was watching a rabbit standing in the clearing, ears pointed straight up and eyes wide. He was debating whether he should remove his bow from his shoulder when he felt Zevran’s eyes boring into him in the way they sometimes did. Zevran was a studier - despite their short time together, Aneirin had learned that much. He liked to know how things worked, and that feeling only intensified when he could see the cogs turning in people’s heads. He turned, his brow creasing even further than usual. Aneirin’s “what” was halfway out of his mouth when Zevran’s interruption met him in the middle.

“You know, you’d look very pretty with a braid,” he said, face serious. Aneirin looked at him like he was mad.

“I'd... What?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“A braid, dear Warden. Like my own, but certainly longer. Perhaps with a few flowers sewn in? Or some of those shiny baubles you seem to like so much,” Zevran replied, as though the very idea _wasn’t_ ridiculous.

Aneirin felt his cheeks tinge pink. He’d noticed, then. The baubles in question - _they’re not baubles!_  he protested to himself - were some of Aneirin’s favourite things to find on the road. The best ones were to be found in the Brecillian Forest and, Aneirin guessed, likely the Deep Roads - more specifically, the abandoned thaigs.

They were small and round, a little like the metal pieces the girls in the alienage used to wear in their hair, usually with little designs or messages carved in the face. Despite Aneirin’s incredulity, Zevran was right - they’d probably look lovely in a braid.

_Not on me,_ Aneirin thought quickly. Maybe on Leliana, if her hair weren’t so short, or perhaps Zevran himself - gold, a compliment to the brown in his eyes. But not on _him._ Shianni had attempted to braid his hair multiple times when they were children, each attempt ending in disaster. Aneirin still shivered when he remembered the summer she knotted it so badly he’d had to cut his hair nearly down to the scalp, eyes watering and lip wobbling all the while.

Instead of vocalising all that, Aneirin settled for a derisive snort. “I think not. I’ll leave the fancy hair to you, for now. What about Sten? I’m sure he’d appreciate some prettying up.”

Zevran shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, dear Warden, but this idea shall continue to pester me until I see it realised. Go on, remove your helm."

Aneirin stared at him. 

Zevran stared back.

Finally, Aneirin’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sighed deeply, reaching up to remove the leather-and-metal cap that protected his skull. His hair tumbled out and he ran an insecure hand through it, pushing the black wisps out of his face. Zevran smirked and moved to tangle his hands in Aneirin’s hair almost immediately, and Aneirin allowed it hesitantly, his shoulders a stiff line.

Zevran laughed amusedly at Aneirin’s stance, hands drifting downward. Aneirin tried to reach back and catch him, but it was too late - by the time his hand was lifted from the grass, Zevran had already dug his thumbs into the muscle of his shoulders, and he felt himself practically _melting_.

He could practically feel Zevran’s smug grin when he flushed bright red, right down to his chest. He barely managed a half-hearted “Maker, you’re insufferable,” before he felt his eyes slide shut.

Zevran only laughed, airy and casual. “You know, I’ve heard that more than once. I wonder why,” he said, his tone genuinely curious.

“You know damn well why,” Aneirin grumbled, trying to will his head not to burst into flame. Zevran laughed openly.

 “Yes, I suppose I do, at that,” he mused.

They sat like that for a moment, and by the time Zevran was done, Aneirin felt like someone had lifted a weight off his shoulders - like he’d been wearing Sten’s heavy plate mail for months and then finally taken it off. He felt lightheaded and a little sun-drunk, and he wasn’t sure if it was the removal of tension or just Zevran’s presence.

Zevran’s hands dove into his hair next, and Aneirin felt himself startle at the contact. He’d almost forgotten that’s what Zevran had suggested in the first place.

Zevran seemed to know exactly what he was thinking - when didn’t he? - and laughed airily. “Are you quite alright, Warden?”

“Fine,” Aneirin stated roughly, trying to regain some semblance of self-control. Zevran’s amused air was obvious even though Aneirin couldn’t see his face.

He felt Zevran crossing his hair, a gentle tug every now and then turning his head this way and that. The sun settled over the hills, bringing on the royal blues and purples of twilight. A few brighter stars peeked out from their places a thousand million miles away. Aneirin allowed himself a moment to memorise this; the stars twinkling, Zevran’s warm presence only a hair’s breadth away, the feeling of peace settled deep into his bones. Aneirin felt himself slip even deeper into some undefined place, somewhere he could visit when all he could see was fire and bloody war.

Aneirin was just starting to come to when Zevran removed one hand from Aneirin’s hair. He heard a ripping sound at his back, and then felt Zevran tying his hair up. Aneirin’s brow furrowed. 

“Did you just rip your shirt for a hair tie?”

“I did,” Zevran replied distractedly, fussing with his hair, weaving something into it.

Aneirin sighed. “You know, you could’ve just asked for one. I have some back at camp proper - so does Wynne. And Leliana.”

“Ah, but you seemed so serene. An unusual look on you, but a good one,” Zevran replied, smoothing his hands down the length of Aneirin’s hair. Aneirin’s retort was cut off when Zevran clapped his hands onto his shoulders. “All done!” he proclaimed, pleased. “Go, look.”

Aneirin resented the order, but stood nonetheless, arching his back until it popped satisfactorily. Zevran grimaced and Aneirin laughed for what felt like the first time in years.

He approached the lake with caution, careful that the wrong reaction might hurt Zevran’s feelings. Preparing himself for the worst, he sat down at the bank and leaned over…

Aneirin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates through no command of his own.

He looked _beautiful_. His long hair had been gathered into a loose braid, a few locks of hair left alone in the front, softening his features. He turned, and in the back he saw wildflowers - blue, purple, white with that familiar splash of crimson in the centre - weaved delicately into the creases. At the bottom, where it tapered off, a silver bead - one of the ones he’d been keeping in his pack. Zevran must’ve lifted it while he’d been distracted, but Aneirin couldn’t find it in him to care. He stared for a moment longer, a descision he'd been sitting on for weeks finally clicking into place.

He stood, and started a determined pace back toward Zevran.

“Well? What’s the verdict? At least now you know that if I prove useless in the art of roguery, you have options, yes?” Zevran posited, his features as coy and unfettered as ever. Aneirin took note of the rough edge of his shirt, his midriff showing where he'd ripped it. He felt a laugh bubble up in his throat.

Zevran made a surprised little noise when Aneirin kissed him, and Aneirin took the moment to feel smug gladly.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing a Lot of DA:O lately and I decided the world needs more Zevran Arainai content because this ridiculous bird man is still a babe.
> 
> Tumblr: prettyjuno


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